The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/The Little Old Spring-House
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The Little Old Spring-House
Ah, that magical little old spring-house,
That stands near the old curb-stone!
How often at morning and evening,
We rushed there by twos and alone!
That stands near the old curb-stone!
How often at morning and evening,
We rushed there by twos and alone!
Unleashed, like the hound for his quarry,
The bucket descends to the pool;
Then, whining and cranking and squeaking,
Comes nectar, refreshing and cool.
The bucket descends to the pool;
Then, whining and cranking and squeaking,
Comes nectar, refreshing and cool.
And the names—have you seen them, so many?
Cut deep in the wood scribbled o'er!
Reluctant, we fain would recall them,
The faces that linger no more.
Cut deep in the wood scribbled o'er!
Reluctant, we fain would recall them,
The faces that linger no more.
Where now are the many who came here,
To drink of its depths long ago?
They sleep beneath granite and marble,
Effaced and transfigured below.
To drink of its depths long ago?
They sleep beneath granite and marble,
Effaced and transfigured below.
1921